Date One – The Tension Begins

The invitation came casually, like it was nothing.

“Dinner. Tonight. With me.”

Elias blinked, holding the clipboard he had been scribbling on in the staff lounge. Lucian stood at the doorway as if he owned the air in the room. He didn’t phrase it like a request—more like a fact that had already been decided.

“No.”

The word fell sharp, flat, and immediate. Elias didn’t even lift his eyes back to the chart. His refusal was meant to end it right there.

But Lucian’s lips curved—not in defeat, but in a quiet, amused acknowledgment. “You didn’t even think about it.”

“I don’t need to,” Elias muttered, flipping a page with more force than necessary.

“You should.” Lucian’s voice dropped a notch lower, brushing along Elias’s skin like velvet dragged across glass. “I don’t invite people twice.”

Elias looked up then, pen pausing mid-sentence. “Then don’t.”

For a second, the air between them thickened. Lucian tilted his head, assessing him with that unnerving stillness he always carried. No flare of temper, no visible frustration. Just… patience. The kind that made Elias feel like prey already trapped in a snare.

“I’ll pick you up at seven,” Lucian said finally, and left the doorway.

Elias stared after him, incredulous. “I said no.”

But when seven came, he was standing outside.

---

The car Lucian sent was sleek and black, the windows tinted to secrecy. Elias sat rigid in the backseat, berating himself the entire ride. He had refused. He knew better. And yet… here he was, palms pressed flat on his knees, heart drumming traitorously faster the closer they got.

The rooftop restaurant was already waiting. Elias didn’t know what he had expected—maybe the low hum of other diners, the distraction of background chatter, something to ground him. But the moment they stepped off the private elevator, he realized he was wrong.

The entire place had been emptied.

Candles flickered along every table, but only one was set: a round table at the center, dressed in white linen, silver cutlery gleaming. Beyond it stretched the skyline, the city’s lights scattered like fallen stars.

Elias stopped short. “You booked… the whole place?”

Lucian glanced at him sideways. “Of course.”

“Of course?” Elias repeated, incredulous. “Do you do this often? Just—rent out restaurants for yourself?”

Lucian walked ahead, unhurried, his suit jacket catching faint starlight. “No. Only when I want someone’s full attention.”

Elias’s throat dried.

---

They sat. A waiter—just one—appeared silently to pour wine, then vanished as if the air itself had swallowed him whole.

Elias traced the rim of his glass with one finger. “This feels unnecessary.”

Lucian leaned back, one arm resting along the back of his chair, watching him without blinking. “It feels right.”

“You think throwing money around is the way to impress me?”

“No.” Lucian’s eyes gleamed. “If I wanted to impress you, I wouldn’t use money. But I do want you to see that I don’t like… distractions.”

Elias’s gaze flicked to the empty restaurant around them, then back. “You cleared out a whole building just so I’d have to sit here with you?”

Lucian’s lips curved. “Exactly.”

Elias forced a laugh, dry and sharp. “That’s not romantic. That’s—”

“Possessive?” Lucian offered, the word rolling smoothly from his tongue.

Elias’s stomach tightened. He hated how easily Lucian dismantled his arguments, how he never faltered, never broke his steady, almost predatory calm.

“You’re not even pretending this is normal,” Elias said.

“I don’t do normal.”

The silence that followed was heavy. Elias crossed his legs, slow, deliberate, like it was nothing. Except it wasn’t nothing—he felt the weight of Lucian’s gaze drop, then lift, lingering like heat searing through fabric. Elias refused to fidget. He only tilted his chin slightly, daring him to look again.

Lucian did.

---

Dinner was served. Dishes Elias barely touched. He found himself too aware of every movement across the table. The way Lucian’s hand curled around his wineglass, deliberate, steady. The way his voice slid through the candlelit air, smooth and dangerous, like a river hiding sharp rocks beneath.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” Lucian said finally.

Elias stabbed his fork into the untouched steak. “Maybe I don’t enjoy being stalked through hospital hallways.”

Lucian didn’t flinch. “Maybe you don’t know what it feels like to be… drawn to someone. To want to know every expression, every sound they make.”

Elias’s fork stilled. His pulse stumbled, but his voice stayed even. “That’s not wanting. That’s obsession.”

Lucian’s lips curved, slow. “Do you think I care about the word you put on it?”

Elias set his fork down with a clink. “You should.”

Their eyes locked again. The candles flickered between them, shadows shifting like breath. For a moment, neither moved, neither blinked. The silence was so thick Elias felt it in his bones, coiled and waiting, like a storm that hadn’t broken yet.

Lucian leaned forward. Just slightly. Just enough that Elias caught the faint trace of his cologne, the warmth radiating from his body. His gaze flicked down, then up again, slower this time, as if mapping every inch of Elias’s face.

Elias swallowed. “You’re too close.”

Lucian’s voice was a low murmur. “You’d tell me to move if you really meant it.”

Elias did not move.

The air tightened like a noose.

---

They talked. Not casual, never casual. Every word between them carried edges, blades wrapped in silk.

Elias spoke about his work—clinical, detached—but Lucian listened like every syllable mattered more than the skyline around them. He asked questions no one else bothered to ask: why Elias had chosen emergency medicine, what kept him awake at night, what he feared most about being needed all the time.

And though Elias tried to stay guarded, some truths slipped.

Lucian didn’t interrupt. He never interrupted. He just watched, dark eyes gleaming, lips curved faintly like he knew more than Elias wanted to reveal.

When Elias fell quiet, Lucian leaned back again, wine swirling lazily in his glass. “You know,” he said, almost conversational, “you can keep fighting me. You can keep saying no. But sooner or later…”

Elias’s brows lifted. “Sooner or later what?”

Lucian’s gaze caught his, unflinching. “You’ll stop pretending you don’t feel it too.”

The fork in Elias’s hand trembled before he set it down. “You’re imagining things.”

Lucian’s smile was slow, dangerous. “Am I?”

The silence returned, electric. Elias crossed his arms now, leaning back, but his body betrayed him—the slow inhale, the subtle shift of his throat, the way his knee brushed lightly against the underside of the table.

Lucian noticed. He always noticed.

---

Dessert came and went, untouched. Neither of them cared anymore about the food. The city sprawled beneath them, glittering, but the real light was caught between their stares—too steady, too daring.

Finally, Elias exhaled sharply, pushing back his chair. “This was a mistake.”

Lucian didn’t move to stop him. He only leaned forward again, resting his elbows on the table, voice velvet and steel.

“No, Elias. This was the beginning.”

The words froze him mid-step. Elias turned slightly, lips parting, but no retort came. Lucian’s gaze had locked him in place once again, pinning him without ever touching.

The tension stretched until it felt unbearable.

Then Elias tore his eyes away, spine stiff, and walked toward the elevator without a word.

Lucian stayed behind, watching, wine untouched in his hand. His lips curved, satisfied.

The game had only just started.

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